Lean On Me
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: Kurt comforts Blaine after a confrontation with his drunken father. A little necessary Klaine fluff.


**Author's Note: This was a tumblr prompt.**

* * *

"So," Kurt popped the lid off of his coffee cup to stir in some sugar, "How have things been going since you moved back home?"

Blaine had been relatively quiet all week and Kurt had forced himself to stay back and let Blaine come to him when he was ready to talk. After five days of constant worrying though, he'd finally had enough and decided to try to ease his boyfriend into the topic during their Friday afternoon coffee date. Blaine mimicked Kurt's actions with his own coffee lid and patiently waited for him to pass the glass jar of sugar. His eyes were rimmed red and there was a certain... exhausted presence about him. Kurt bit his lip and set the jar down, considering repeating the question as Blaine stared down at the jar in an almost trance-like state.

"They're...intense," he stated after a moment—in a very un-Blaine quiet monotone—and picked up the sugar.

"Intense how?" Kurt shifted his chair closer to the table and frowned when his stomach pressed against the hard wood.

"Just—my dad and I aren't really getting along still," Blaine mumbled and watched a steady stream of white crystals free fall into his coffee cup.

"There's something more. Something you're not telling me," Kurt protested despite his instincts telling him that he should approach this with more caution and less panic. Blaine merely shook his head and Kurt bit back his concern. '_He'll only shut down if you keep pushing him,_' he reminded himself before changing the subject. "Are you still coming over for dinner tonight? Dad and Carole have been really looking forward to having you again this week."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Blaine swirled a wooden stirrer in the murky beverage and flashed Kurt a sincere only-for-you-smile. "I just need to stop off at home first and then I'll drive over to your house afterwards."

"Perfect," Kurt brought his cup to his lips and took a long sip. He stared at Blaine over the rim of the cup before sliding his feet across the floor and entangling his legs with Blaine's under the table. Blaine snorted into his coffee, sending tiny droplets of the liquid all over the tabletop; his entire body twitched when Kurt's leg had pressed against a particularly sensitive spot behind his knee. "Sorry—" Kurt tried to rush an apology for his carelessness but Blaine held up his hand, laughing still, to stop him. Kurt gave him a gentle smile and within seconds Blaine had reached forward and pulled Kurt closer to him through use of the skinny black tie he had chosen last minute to wear today. As Blaine closed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to his lips, Kurt made a mental note to wear ties more often.

* * *

"Where's Blaine, kiddo? He still coming tonight?" Burt called down to Kurt's bedroom from the top of the stairs.

"He should be here any minute, I don't know what's taking him so long!" Kurt—sprawled out on his bed— shouted in response and rolled onto his back before swiping his phone off of the nightstand. Zero calls. Zero texts. He wrinkled his nose and sent a quick _"on your way?"_ to Blaine before trudging up the stairs to try force his way into the kitchen to help with dinner.

Every Friday night it was always the same—Burt and Carole had barred him from the kitchen, insisting it was _their_ time together to prepare a nice family meal. And every Friday night Kurt rolled his eyes in response and retired to the living room, sneering every time his father dropped a pot or cursed loudly when the fire detectors had gone off. Kurt probably should have warned Carole of his father's inability to cook, but the scene the two of them set usually provided Kurt and Finn with entertainment for at least a few hours so he kept his lips sealed. She figured it out pretty quickly after the first attempt, but still kept at it with Burt. Because of this, Kurt had nothing but love and respect for her.

"Uh-uh, out," Burt hadn't even looked away from the frying pan in front of him as he pointed to his right after hearing Kurt's footsteps.

"Dad, that's the wall. The door's to the left," Kurt snickered.

Burt dropped his right arm and raised his left instead, pointing out the door. "Go on, out. We've got this."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at Carole who returned his gaze with an affectionate smile. "He's doing very well tonight, I think you'd be proud, Kurt."

Burt spared a millisecond to cast Carole a content smile before returning to his stare-down with a couple of pieces of searing meat. Kurt laughed and made his way into the living room where Finn was camped out on the couch, playing Xbox. "Blaine almost here yet? I'm starving," Finn kept his eyes glued on the television.

"Almost," Kurt's voice sounded hesitant. He checked his phone again and his stomach twisted itself into knots when he saw that he _still_ had no new calls or texts from Blaine. '_Something's wrong. Something's wrong. I should have went with him. Why didn't I__—_'

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

_"_Finally!" Finn paused his game and raced into the kitchen.

Kurt snapped his head towards the urgent thumping at the door and rushed to it, flinging it open. His heart fell straight to his feet at the sight before him. Blaine was standing there, fists clenched, and _sobbing_. Proper gasping-for-air-flushed-cheeks-snot-running-down-his-nose sobbing. Kurt had maybe caught an accidental glimpse at tears glistening in his boyfriend's beautiful hazel eyes only once or twice, but he had never seen Blaine like this before. "Oh god, baby, what happened? Come inside, come here," Kurt ushered Blaine in, pulling the hysterical boy close to his chest. "It's okay, I've got you," he murmured soothingly before pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead. Blaine seemed to be inconsolable though, choking back sobs and burying his palms into his eyes, leaving Kurt in a frenzied state of internalised panic.

"You guys going to spend all night greeting each other at the door?" Burt called out from the kitchen. "I'm coming in there so separate your mouths from each—" he stopped mid-stride when his eyes befell the two of them. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I don't know," Kurt couldn't help the panicked squeaks accenting his words.

"Blaine?" Burt asked, quiet and tentative.

"Dad, could you just give us a minute?" Kurt interjected, rubbing small circles into Blaine's back. "I'm going to take him down to my room and see if I can— you know, calm him down."

Burt nodded wordlessly—what would he have had to say?—and stepped out of the way for them to pass. Kurt never let Blaine stray more than an inch from his own body as he led them through the kitchen.

"Was getting worried you'd never show, Blaine," Finn speared a potato chunk from a frying pan, his back to Kurt and Blaine. Kurt quickly considered the gap between where they were currently standing and the entrance to the stairs leading down to his room—if he could just get there before Finn turned around and saw—

"Woah."

Too late.

Finn looked to Kurt and they exchanged a brief look of mutual understanding before Finn turned back to the stove. "Come on, babe," Kurt spoke in a lover's dialect, keeping his voice soft and inviting for Blaine, as they descended the stairs to his bedroom. Blaine still hadn't said a word, but his sobs had been reduced to staggered sniffles. Kurt sat down on the bed before gently guiding Blaine onto his lap, keeping his arms securely around his boyfriend. "Whenever you're ready," he whispered and pressed a kiss to Blaine's left temple.

"What about your family dinner?" Blaine's voice came out sounding gravelly and raw.

"They can manage to wait a little longer," Kurt wanted to pout, melt, and beg all at the same time. Of course Blaine would try to shift the subject. "Please," Kurt searched for Blaine's hands and interlaced their fingers together, "Just tell me what happened. Does it have to do with your dad?"

Blaine let his blank stare linger momentarily, but his body grew tense when Kurt mentioned his father. He resisted the urge to raise his voice in bitter resentment. "He was—when I got home, he—he was—" he hadn't realised how tightly he was clinging to Kurt's hands until he heard his boyfriend's breath hitch in pain behind him. He eased up and tried to organise his thoughts in a more coherent manner. "He told me he'd stop drinking," he finally conceded, the words soaring along a defeated breath.

Kurt's face fell, Blaine wasn't looking at him, but he could hear it in his voice as he spoke. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry—"

"And he just started in on me as soon as I walked through the door," Blaine interrupted—something he rarely ever did—finally starting to understand Kurt's daily need to purge his soul. After keeping things so secretive, he couldn't deny it felt good to finally let some of those afflictions leak out through cracks in the barrier he'd built up around himself to keep the rest of the world out. Kurt remained silent to see if Blaine would continue.

"Telling me I was 'immoral' and disgusting, that I should stop pretending to be gay because he thinks I'm just using it to hurt him," Blaine squinted his eyes in disgust at the recollection. "But that—it's not even the worst part. He told me—he said—" he was starting to get choked up again and Kurt squeezed his hands reassuringly, nuzzling Blaine's neck and littering it with gentle kisses. "He said he'd rather see me dead than gay. He told me he wished I was _dead_, Kurt. My own dad," Blaine ripped a hand away from Kurt's and rubbed at his eyes furiously.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at Kurt; he didn't want to see the sorrow and sympathy on display on his boyfriend's face, the sad eyes that would reduce him to shambles and make him feel pathetic and exposed. And when Kurt placed his hand on Blaine's chin and tried to turn his head, Blaine resisted at first until Kurt begged in a fragile whisper, "Baby, please just look at me."

Their eyes locked—Blaine's insecure and vulnerable, Kurt's determined and loving—and it took everything in Blaine to keep himself upright and composed. "Listen to me," Kurt's voice trembled, indiscernibly in stifled anger or due to his own anxiety. "You are the most amazing, beautiful, _sexy_," his cheeks still flared up every time he used the word, "talented, loving boy I have ever met. And if your dad can't see that then he doesn't deserve the right to claim you as his son."

Blaine released a small, bitter, breathy laugh but didn't interrupt further than that. Kurt cupped Blaine's hands between his own, his face stern and worried as he stared at Blaine. "You deserve so much, Blaine, and you never think that you do. And that kills me," Kurt's eyes began to glisten and Blaine knew he wouldn't be able to keep himself together much longer if Kurt started crying, "My dad tells me everyday how great he thinks you are; your dad is the one who's wrong, Blaine, not you. I—you should just move out again, move here with me. You should be around people who love you and will tell you everyday how wonderful you are and—no, please don't cry again!"

Blaine did nothing about the tears messily trailing down his cheeks; the undersides of his eyes were splotched scarlet and tiny whimpers began to accompany his frequent sniffling. Kurt unclasped their hands and brushed away a few tears with his thumbs as gently as he could. Despite the sting, Blaine leaned into the touch and kept leaning forward until their mouths had found each other and they were kissing with a sort of desperation Blaine had never fully known before. They spent the next few minutes locked together—limbs, lips, and souls—until Blaine was the first to pull away. "You know your dad would never let me," he panted quietly in a soft, disappointed voice.

"We don't know that," Kurt responded quickly, as though his speedy reassurance would bring more hope and truth to his words. "We don't know what he'll say unless—"

"Unless you ask me," the addition of Burt Hummel's gruff voice from the direction of the staircase made them both jump. Kurt counted the footsteps in his head as his father descended and came into view: seven. How long had he been hiding out midway down the stairs?

"Sorry, I um—I didn't really mean to listen in, but I was coming down to check on you boys and I heard," Burt rubbed the back of his neck, shuffling on his feet as though he were a scolded child awaiting punishment. Some distant thought must have caught up to him though and reminded him he was the parent here because he dropped his hand to his side, standing up straighter as he said, "Blaine, Kurt's right—you can't be around that, around him."

Blaine swallowed hard and looked between the two Hummels; Kurt stared up at his father with a glimmer of adoration twinkling in his eyes. For one bitter second Blaine wondered what that must feel like, to possess so much faith and respect towards your father and receive an equal amount back, until he realised that with Mr. Hummel he _did_ have an idea of what that felt like. He was the closest thing to a father Blaine had ever had.

"What are you saying, dad?" Kurt asked hesitantly, still trying to process. "Can Blaine live here?"

"We'll have to be careful and go about it the right way. Legally, I mean." Burt turned his attention to Blaine, "You're practically family and I don't think any one of us here could stand to see you hurting anymore, kiddo."

Blaine's eyes misted over and he bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from crying yet again. He opened his mouth to speak but the only sounds to escape were raspy, syncopated syllables that were indiscernible from any spoken language on record. "Why don't you boys take a few more minutes and then come join us for dinner?" Burt suggested and the sudden sound of shuffling footsteps quickly receding up the stairs caused both Blaine and Kurt's heads to turn; so, Burt hadn't been the only one spying on them. Mr. Hummel didn't wait for an answer as he walked up the stairs, leaving the two of them alone.

"Come on, we'll get your face washed up and then head upstairs," Kurt nuzzled Blaine's cheek, squeezing his arms around Blaine just a little tighter. Blaine nodded and let himself be led to the bathroom and taken care of, knowing that Kurt needed to do it just as much as Blaine needed it to happen. Five minutes of stolen kisses and "mandatory" moisturising—according to Kurt— passed before they finally made their way up into the kitchen where Carole, Finn, and Burt sat waiting for them. They chatted amongst each other as though nothing had happened, stopping only when Kurt and Blaine had entered the room to smile at them.

Kurt pulled a chair out for Blaine beside Finn before sitting down beside his father. Blaine glanced around the table, committing each smiling face to memory, and cleared his throat softly. "I—I don't know what I would do without you guys," he stammered. "There are no words that could ever—just thank you. Thank you so much for being everything I've ever needed," he groped for Kurt's hand under the table. Kurt clasped his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

"Welcome home, son," Burt raised a glass of water to Blaine and flashed a crooked, toothy grin.

_'Home,_' Blaine thought, _'I'm home._'


End file.
